I Solemnly Swear
by headsfullofstars
Summary: AU Fanfiction where Harry travels back in time to the Marauders Era. Rated M; some content may be unsuitable for younger ages.


I Solemnly Swear

headsfullofstars

Disclaimer: I would like to state that I am merely a thirteen-year old girl, and therefore own none of the Harry Potter characters, as much as I wish I did. This story belongs to me, however, and all characters that are not mentioned in the actual books. That said, I hope despite the relatively overused plotline of 'Harry travels back in time to the Marauders Era', it is a good read.

Summary: (I don't want to spoil the story so this is literally just a brief review of what happens in this fanfiction) Harry travels back in time to the Marauders Era, sent to 1972 by Death. Whilst in the past, Harry befriends the marauders, along with many other people who attended Hogwarts during that time. The Wizarding World is at the brink of war by the time they all reach sixth year, however, and they all work together to fight the opposing side.

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 **Chapter 1**

 **Back In Time**

Harry sat by the fire, watching the flicker of orange flames with tired eyes. He could feel the creep of approaching death from deep within his bones, but comforted himself knowing that he would be with his loved ones once more. His time was impending, and he knew it.

"I know you're here." Harry whispered, his eyes still focused on the flames, watching attentively. A dark shadow emerged from the seeps of the intricately painted walls of his living room, forming a tall, imposing hooded figure shrouded in black mist. It had long, skeletal like hands and was veiled in a dark cloak that hung by it's sides. The figure swept elegantly towards Harry, floating barely above the ground. "Has my time finally come?" The old wizard asked, his body shifting in the cushioned chair as he watched the hooded figure intently. The spirit remained silent, merely creeping over Harry's body like a predator, his lean, gnarled fingers spread open as if ready to attack. Harry thought, as he watched the ghost-like body, that it resembled a Dementor very closely. The room filled with cold air and chills went up Harry's slightly crooked spine as the figure still refused to respond.

"I'm not afraid of death." Harry said, his eyebrows drawing together slightly as a black mist washed over his ancient, frail body like black fog. His head was held high slightly, no trace of fear or worry on his face, but merely a blank, emotionless expression.

"No, you do not, that is as clear as day." Death retaliated, hanging over Harry like an impending storm. Silence fell upon the room, a cold breeze surging through the once warm atmosphere as the figure circled the feeble wizard seated in the rouge, slightly threadbare chair.

"Just please hurry up and get this business over and done with." Harry said carefully, his emerald eyes fixed on the shadowed figure. Death chuckled slightly, or rather cackled in a low voice, before ascending towards Harry, black mist clinging to his dark physique.

"Ah — I am sorry to say, most tragically, Mr. Potter, you will not be reunited with your loved ones as of now."

Harry's breath quickened as the spirit's words swarmed over Harry, cold air wafting around his slender, fatigued body. He stared at the hooded figure as the chill of the room numbed his brain and he was lost for words.

"I don't understand." Harry said weakly, his eyes widened the slightest in shock as he barely made out the words that had fallen from his mouth. _So I'm not going to die today?_

"Of course you do not, Master of Death."

"Don't call me that." The old man snapped, venom dripping from his tone.

"Why not? You possess all three of my gifts."

"You can have them back for all I care, but you will not stop me from being reunited with my family!"

A cackle escaped from under the darkened hood as a wide, malicious grin appeared on the ghostly figure's face, bearing few white teeth that shone against the blackness underneath the hood that hung effortlessly over the spirit's head. Harry swallowed away his anxiety and calmed his enraged body, before his eyes once again fixed upon the dark, sickly figure that was hovering before him, "What do you mean I can't be reunited with my family?"

"You cannot die. Your soul will walk the land for eternity, Master of Death."

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Well, that's just wonderful." He said lazily.

There was an awkward silence in the cold, empty-feeling room as the frail man stared into the now empty fireplace, contemplating over the situation. Death approached Harry carefully, and began to wrap itself around the man's body like a cocoon, a dark mist floating around the two. Harry's breathing became erratic as he watched the spirit with wide eyes, chills going down his spine like electrical currents as the forbidding blackness crept up his tensed body.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, his tone laced with fear as the spirit circled him, the dark mist creeping further and further up his body, covering all up to his chest in complete darkness.

"I will send you to the past, Mr. Potter. From there on, you will walk alone."

Before the old man could even respond, he felt himself being sucked into a darkness that was somewhat familiar to the unpleasant sensation of apparition. Harry Potter, the misfortunately proclaimed Master of Death, now found himself in the middle of an older looking town. He could not ignore the fact, however, that he felt significantly smaller than he had when in his frail, elderly body. He felt younger, more able.. His eyes wandered the streets curiously; a chilly mist filled the air and Harry eyed the overgrown, rubbish-shrewn banks surrounding the hushed street with curiosity. The place was almost silent, besides the barely audible howl of the wind that brushed through the tall, yellowing grass and sent eerie shivers down his spine. Further down the street were several brick houses, walls moss capped and roofs slanting slightly. Harry continued to explore the unfamiliar, desolate avenue until his eyes suddenly fixed upon the figure running across the road. Running across to... him. Running quite frantically towards him. Harry's eyes widened as the feminine figure ascended towards him, getting closer and closer.

"Harry, we've been looking all over for you! Come on, let's get you back to your room." The woman said, her voice slightly withered. She looked as though she were in her mid 40s, and was dressed in a pale blue, cotton summer dress with a winter coat pulled on top. Her hair was a dark brown, and was tied into a tight bun. The only thing Harry could focus on, however, was the fact that the height difference between the two was very significant. Harry looked at the lady in surprise, who grabbed his shoulder and forcefully pushed him down the street. _How the hell does she know who I am?_

"Uh, excuse me, miss. What year is it?" Harry asked, his eyes widening more when his voice, the voice that he was usually accustomed to sounding husk and withered, was noticably higher and more child-like.

"Harry dear, are you quite alright?" The woman asked, looking down at Harry with concern. She absent-mindedly wrapped her coat around her body, shivering as the cold air brushed her skin.

"Um, yes miss, I just.. forgot."

"Ah, well, it is 1972." The middle-aged woman replied, still eyeing Harry curiously. Harry stopped on the spot, his legs seeming to have forgotten their purpose. He stood helplessly, oblivious as to why that wretched devil spawn would send him back to 1972... "Are you sure you're alright Harry?" She asked again, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. The wind roared as it blew around the two figures, fog lingering around them as though it would advance towards them at any moment, much like a predator.

"Oh, uh.. yes miss." Harry said quickly, worrying his lip as he looked up at the dazed woman, his hair blowing around his face as the wind grew more forceful.

"Come on, let's get you inside." The woman muttered, brushing her tangled locks out of her face and looking around the street cautiously. "It's getting cold out, you should really wear a jacket if your planning on playing outside in the winter." She seized Harry's arm and pushed him forward, the two slowly making their way down the deserted, lifeless looking street. The sky was beginning to darken, blackening clouds lingering over the town as cold gushes of wind pushed through the brisk air. The sun was low in the sky, floating just above the horizon, covered almost completely by the stormy clouds. Harry exaled slowly, watching intently as the white mist escaped his lips and hovered before him for a moment, before being whisked away by the compelling wind. The figures walked for a minute or two, before slowing to a halt before a large, brick building with darkened windows; it was two or three storeys high, towering over most buildings in the town. The stoney path on which they were standing on trailed up to a large oak door, above which said 'Home for Little Wizards and Witches' in bold letters on a brass letter plate. Harry stood helplessly before the small, iron gate, mind filled with questions as he stared at the aged building. His eyes averted to the gardens in front of the orphanage; yellowing tall grass covered most of the land, though in several spots withering flowers grew tall from the torrid earth, all smothered in frost. The middle-aged woman gave him a gentle nudge, nodding her head towards the building, gesturing for Harry to walk forward.

Harry breathed a small sigh of relief as he stepped into the building, warmness engulfing his shivering body. All was silent in the room, only the sound of crackling from the flames in the stoney fireplace could be heard. Inside, the building was just about as welcoming as the outside suggested; the floorboards were rickety, creaking with every move, and the walls were plastered with grey wallpaper that was ripped in some places, revealing the whitewashed walls beneath. The room itself was very bare, only a dark oak desk and a threadbare sofa filling the otherwise empty space. The wall behind the desk was completely covered by a bookshelf, encasing books that were mainly bound with black and brown leather.

"You'd better go to your room, Harry, it's getting dark and the others are already in bed." The woman said from behind the desk that she had recently vacated, analysing a pile of paperwork that was set on the corner of the desk.

"Where is my room?" Harry asked, looking quizzically at the woman. "I forgot." He promptly added after the confused expression on the woman's face.

"It's just down the hall, it has your name on it — are you sure you're alright Harry? You've been acting rather odd these past few hours." The woman asked, looking at Harry with concern. Harry nodded hastily, shrugging off the woman's troubled expression. "Alright, off to bed with you."

Harry made his way down the hall, eyeing each door with curiosity. The walls were painted a dark brown, and each door was dark oak with their name carved intricately into a wooden slab. Finally, at the end of the lengthy hall, he reached a door with the name 'Harry Turner' hung upon it. Assuming this was his room, he pushed the door open to reveal a dark, rectangular room. The room itself wasn't large in size, but felt rather like a prison cell more than anything. The walls were whitewashed and the floorboards were cracked, allowing small blades of grass to push their way through the crevices. On the wall furthest from the door was a small, slightly smudged window. In the corner was a small, single bed with a dark blue, slightly worn duvet. Above the headboard was a small apple box, which as of the moment was filled with all sorts of books, along with a few pictures, a muggle camera and a small mirror.

Harry picked the mirror up curiously, gaping in shock as he stared at the reflection. His usual tousled grey locks were now a dark brown, almost black, and were slightly wavy and tamed. His usual round, pudgy cheekbones were now sharp, his face angular. Stormy blue eyes took the place of the usual emerald green orbs, and his complexion was completely unblemished, besides the odd freckle. His face was childlike, however, and he looked a large deal younger than his old self, around the age of thirteen, he assumed. He stood, surprised, for a moment as he stared at the unfamiliar reflection, before setting the slightly blurred mirror into it's usual position. His head turned, a little to quickly, towards the door as a knocking sound filled the otherwise silent air.

"Harry, your Hogwarts letter just arrived." Harry recognised the woman as the same one that had escorted him back to this apparent orphanage a while ago. She had a small smile on her face, and was holding a white envelope out to him - he took it hastily, staring at it with interest. His name was on the front of the envelope, written in dark green ink. He turned it over and glanced at the red wax seal on the back, which had a _H_ stamped in the center. "You'll be transferring to Hogwarts next week, when the new school year starts." The woman explained, smiling at Harry's obvious excitement. "You'd better go to sleep, Harry." She said, before turning on her heel and marching out of the room, closing the great oak door behind her.

Harry placed the letter carefully into his apple box, before clambering into his bed. He stared at the ceiling pensively for little over an hour, before sleep finally claimed him, and darkness took over.


End file.
